


Les Monologues du Vagin

by Zooey_Glass



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crack Fic, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-27
Updated: 2008-09-27
Packaged: 2017-10-02 01:14:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zooey_Glass/pseuds/Zooey_Glass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's rarely at a loss with women or with the supernatural, but there are some things a man just shouldn't have to face, damnit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Les Monologues du Vagin

**Author's Note:**

> The band Sam annoys Dean with is Hayseed Dixie. Their bluegrass renditions of Back in Black and Highway to Hell are classic.
> 
> Dean's 'titties-and-beer-fugged mind' is a homage to Frank Zappa's song Titties and Beer. Titties, beer and outwitting the devil - I feel Dean would approve.

They've been on the road for a couple of weeks, no long stops and nothing to hunt. Dean loves his car, but two weeks cooped up in the Impala with no-one but Sammy is driving him stir-crazy. Sam had whinged and whined for three days about having to listen to Dean's music, until Dean finally snapped and let him pick a tape for once. He'd thought he was safe enough, since Sam's only really got Dean's own tapes to choose from, but his brother's managed to turn up a Hayseed Dixie album and ten minutes of that is enough to make Dean lose the will to live.

When he sees the bar at the side of the road he mutters a prayer to any gods that might be listening and pulls over as fast as he can. He's pleased enough with his choice when he finds that the bar's got a special on beer with whisky chasers and a jukebox with what seems like the entire rock catalogue of the Eighties.

He's even more pleased to find that the waitress is a pretty little thing who looks like she missed out on a vocation in Hooters and gets off work in fifteen minutes. Sam recognises the signs and storms off to get a bed in the neighbouring motel, and within half an hour Dean's getting nice and cosy in the waitress' room out back.

They spend a happy stretch of time just kissing, the kind of hot and heavy, backseat-of-the-car kissing that gets Dean really hot. Then the girl - Donna - starts stripping off her clothes and Dean moves on down her body. He loves this part, is really good at it. He kisses down her belly, moving lower and lower while she pants and shivers. When he reaches her curls he pauses provocatively, rubbing his thumb against her thigh, and her panting breaths modulate into high, keening whines.

Dean swipes his tongue down Donna's clit, and hears a voice say, 'Mmm, yes, we like this.' He smirks for a moment, basking in his own prowess, before two things penetrate his titties-and-beer-fugged mind.

1\. _We?_ and 2. How did she say that AND keep up that moaning at the same time?

Also, the voice is not coming from anywhere near her head.

Dean pulls back from her and grabs for the gun in his coat. He glares at Donna, firearm pointing straight at her, dick strangely _not_. Donna looks embarrassed, but not entirely surprised by this turn of events, and he hears the same voice say, 'What's the matter, boy? Can't get it up?'

Oh my GOD, it's _coming from her cunt_.

'Your c- your vagina talks!' Dean says hysterically.

Donna rolls her eyes. 'And?'

'Men aren't the only ones who can keep their brains in their pants,' her cunt chimes in somewhat snippily.

She's obviously some kind of FREAKY DEMON and Dean's thinking about shooting her in quite a different sense than he was a couple of minutes ago, but as far as he can tell the rest of her is all girl and he can't just shoot some waitress because her cunt started talking to him. He's used to scenarios you couldn't explain to the cops, but this is one he'd have trouble explaining even to Sammy.

'Stay there,' he says, brandishing the gun at her. His voice is definitely not shaking, no. Why should it be when he's managed to keep his cool through a thousand life-threatening situations?

He backs back out into the bar - remembering just in time to tuck his dick back in his pants - and grabs a few salt cellars off the service station. He unscrews the tops out in the bar, ignoring the bemused looks of the other patrons, and shoulders his way back into Donna's room, gun in one hand, salt in the other. She's still laid out on the bed like the centrefold from Playboy, and he flings the salt right at her cunt, gabbling the _invocation_ as fast as he can.

'OW!' two voices screech, and Donna looks pissed as hell and clutches at her groin, but there's no other change as far as Dean can see.

'What did you do that for, you cretin?'

'Lady, your _cunt is speaking to me_, what do you expect me to do?'

'Talk back?' It's not Donna speaking, but Dean can _hear_ the smirk in that voice. He thinks of all the times he's joked with Sam about his ability to sweet-talk the ladies - 'The popular vote is in, Sammy, your big brother has the smoothest tongue in fifty states' - and feels slightly queasy. He tries to pretend he hasn't heard.

'Look, Donna, obviously you're, you're cursed or something, maybe you pissed off some seriously powerful bruja, I don't know. But we can help, me and my brother, this is the kind of stuff we deal with.' He's given a variation on this speech plenty of times before, and it should be easy, but dammit if his usual confident tone hasn't abandoned him somewhere.

Donna's off the bed now and heading for the bathroom, presumably to wash the salt off.

'Thanks so much for your concern, but I'm happy with my cunt, if it's all the same to you. It only talks - OK, not always at the best of moments, but it hasn't eaten anyone yet - and I don't see why we should put up with some dickhead throwing salt on us and trying to perform some kind of exorcism.'

'Yeah, baby,' her cunt chimes in. 'You really ruined the moment there. Why don't you come back to bed and kiss us all better?'

Dean nearly throws up at the thought.

'All right, all right, no more salt, but there's no way I'm coming back to bed with you. I'm leaving now, but if I hear of anything weird round here, any mysterious disappearances or - or _mutilations_, I'll be back for you. _Both_ of you.'

Donna pouts, and her cunt chuckles long and low. 'All right, nancy boy, but you're missing out. You haven't even asked what _else_ I can do.'

Dean turns tail and flees.

Next morning, he can't get in the car quick enough. Sam starts to suggest grabbing some breakfast from the bar, and Dean declines before the words are even out of his brother's mouth.

'What's the matter, man? I thought you would be looking to hook up with that waitress again.'

'Hangover,' Dean mutters, and starts the car.

They cover another three states before he hits on a girl again.


End file.
